Cinderella will go to the Ball
by Annie Bespoke
Summary: When the Prince needs to find a partner he sends an invitation to all of the eligible people in the land. When Harry looks like an ideal suitor, John must stop them. Please review before you fav or follow, would like some constructive criticism too.


**Don't bother asking me where I got the idea from, I have no clue either. I have no clue where or when this is set, it just kind of happened. Just so you know, John's point of view is in normal, Sherlock's is in italics. **_**There are some adult themes in here, so don't say I didn't warn you.**_** Merry Christmas and have a Happy New year.**

John opened the front door, broom in hand, and a scowl on his face. A young man dressed in finery stood at the door, holding out an envelope.  
"I have an invitation for your household for the upcoming Christmas Ball." The young messenger handed over the invitation. John took it from him and slammed the door in his face, which made him feel so much better. John placed his broom in the corner of the room, out of harms way. Slowly he climbed the winding staircase, steeling himself. Eventually he reached the top and he slowly made his way to his step-father's study. John stood in front of the intimidating double doors, hand ready to knock, and gulped. He rapped the door quietly.  
"Enter." The 'At your own peril' was implied. John opened the door and stepped in, before bowing politely.  
"John, why have you disturbed me?" John could barely make out the form of his step-father in the dim room.  
"There is an invitation from the palace." John carefully walked closer, holding out the aforementioned invitation. John's step-father snatched it from him. John made his escape. When the door had closed safely behind him, he collapsed in a heap against the wall. His heart thundered in his chest, making breathing hard. He gulped in the air, never seeming to get enough, and ran a hand through his blond hair. Eventually his heart quietened and he went back to work. Picking up the broom, he started humming, and continued to sweep the foyer.

* * *

_Sherlock watched the preparations for the Christmas Ball with a knot in his stomach. Mummy glided up behind him.  
_"_Why _this _year, Mummy?" Mummy smiled.  
_"_You're getting older, Sherlock. Mycroft was younger than you when he chose his wife, they get along splendidly."  
_"_She's his secretary."  
_"_Just choose a partner, I don't particularly care if it is a man or a woman any more, just choose one." Mummy glided away again. Sherlock scowled in her direction. He sighed and thought of the different possibilities to get out of getting married, but all solutions came back to one thing… Mummy would be disappointed. Maybe he could just marry someone and then buy them another house to live in; they certainly weren't living in Baker Street with him. Sherlock sighed and made his way back to his rooms in the palace. He passed many servants running to and fro, preparing flowers or other decorations. One bumped into him and he sneered. The young woman made her apologies and cleared up. Sherlock eventually managed returned to his rooms without any further incidents. He kicked off the highly polished shoes and threw himself onto the couch, looking up at the ceiling he began to catalogue the dimensions of the patterns and characters. When he finished, he took a deep breath before muttering to himself.  
_"_Bored."_

* * *

John was scrubbing down one of the kitchen's four ovens when Harry came storming in.  
"Did you know about this ball?" Outrage was clear on her face.  
"Yes, it happens every year." John continued to clean the oven, reaching for the far side.  
"This year's different! They're looking for a partner for Prince Sherlock!"  
"Aaaaand this concerns us because?"  
"Step-father intends for me to marry him." John's eyes widened in disbelief.  
"Step-father already agreed for you to marry Lady Clara, though. You were to be wed by the end of next month." Tears started streaming down her face. John stood up, dropped the cloth he was using, and embraced her. She sobbed into his already-stained shirt. Eventually her sobs quietened, and John stepped away.  
"You good?" She nodded. She arranged her dress and sat down on one of the stools in the centre of the kitchen. John picked up the cloth, giving it a quick rinse before continuing cleaning.  
"I wish step-father would let me at least help you. Or get a servant; he doesn't have to be so cruel." John looked at her, raising an eyebrow.  
"I don't think he likes me very much."  
"That doesn't mean that he can treat you like muck, you're my brother, and you should be treated as such."  
"HARRIET!" Harry jumped.  
"I have to go." She gave John a quick peck on the cheek before running up the stairs to their step-father. John sighed and continued to scrub, sweat beading upon his brow. John thought about what Harry had said. It was two days until the ball. If he could somehow convince his step-father that he should go as well, he could convince Prince Sherlock not to choose Harry. After all, even a spoiled brat like the Prince would understand that she loved Lady Clara. The Prince doesn't sound like he wants to find a partner either, so it shouldn't be too hard. John stared imagining what Prince Sherlock actually looked like. Apparently he had high, cutting cheekbones and dark curly hair, and had skin so pale it almost glowed. John began to smile at the image in his head. John shook his head and returned to his scrubbing.

* * *

_Sherlock looked at the list of guests. Mummy certainly went out of her way to invite as many eligible people as possible. Of course, it probably helped that Sherlock was Prince and second in line for the throne. Maybe he could cut a deal with one of the wealthier families. He plucked a medical journal from his bookshelf, curling up in one corner of the sofa, began to read. His eyes strayed to the clock. Only a day remaining. Sherlock forced his eyes to stay on the paragraph that he was reading. It wasn't until the fourth time reading the same sentence that he gave up. He walked into his closet and changed into his riding gear. Walking swiftly down to the stables, he walked past Mycroft.  
_"_Mycroft."  
_"_Sherlock." They nodded at each other before carrying on as before. When Sherlock reached the stable he mounted his horse and sped off. The weather was surprisingly mild for this time of year, Sherlock barely needed anything heavier that a jumper._

_Eventually they reached his favourite thinking spot. Dismounting, Sherlock hadn't noticed the figure looking up at a tree. Sherlock tied his horse to a branch and breathed in the sweet air. The figure started to climb the tree that he was looking up at earlier. Sherlock finally noticed him. He slowly made his way towards the tree the figure was sitting in. The figure was reaching out towards a white sheet, inching closer, spreading his weight so he didn't snap the branch. Sherlock stood out of harms way, watching him. He reached, his shirt riding up, giving Sherlock a small view of perfectly tanned skin. The figure let out a triumphant shout, his hand had finally gripped the sheet. He sat up and Sherlock bit back the feeling of disappointment at not seeing the sun-kissed skin any more. The figure was smiling, looking around him for a way down. His smile slipped when he realised that he couldn't find a safe route.  
_"_Crap!" He let out a curse. Sherlock approached him.  
_"_Do you need any help?" He looked up at the figure, looking into his deep blue eyes.  
_"_Erm… It would be nice." Sherlock nodded and held out his hands.  
_"_Jump." The figure let out a quiet huff.  
_"_No way."  
_"_It's not that much higher than me."  
_"_Yes, but you must be at least half a head taller than me, add another foot and what do you get?"  
_"_You get a man who is too scared to jump." The figure narrowed his eyes, and brought his foot over, so they were both on the same side. He took a deep breath and pushed himself off. He was heavier than Sherlock expected from such a short man, and they landed on the ground with a huff. The figure pushed himself off of Sherlock's chest. Sherlock started to laugh, the figure quickly joined in. They lay, laughing, side by side for a few minutes. When they stopped, Sherlock held out a hand in the figure's direction.  
_"_Sherlock."  
_"_John." They shook hands.  
_"_You have the same name as the prince." Sherlock smiled and waited for John's brain to catch up to what he just said. John sat up straight.  
_"_You're the prince!" Sherlock nodded.  
_"_I have to go, your Highness." John bowed and ran off in the opposite direction of the palace. Sherlock frowned in his direction, before gathering up the sheet that John had left behind. He pressed it against his face, smiling. He untied his horse and mounted him. He rode back to the palace with the sheet in his hand._

* * *

John sat on the floor, the bucket next to him. He was a little shell shocked. The Prince was nothing like he imagined him, for one, he was so much more beautiful. He dipped the brush in the bucket and began to wash the floors. He muttered to himself about no good princes and their tendency to forget people actually had lives. It wasn't until halfway through washing the floor that he realised he hadn't asked Sherlock not to marry Harry. He frowned and scrubbed at a stain on the floor. The ball was tomorrow and Harry was out for her final dress fitting. The front door burst open and John ran to the foyer. John's step-father stormed in, Harry following quietly and quickly behind.  
"The dressmaker doesn't know a shirt from a pair of trousers!" His step-father bellowed.  
"It will be ready by tomorrow morning." Harry said quietly.  
"Tomorrow morning? Bah, it won't be done until next week. No, your mother was the same size as you are now; you'll wear her wedding dress." Their step-father ran up the stairs and entered his study. Harry looked up at the stairs, disbelief in her eyes. John quietly approached her.  
"Mother's wedding dress."  
"I'm sorry, Harry." Their mother's wedding dress was simple and white and had no train, but held bad memories for them both.  
"Maybe it will all turn out fine. Prince Sherlock is a nice man." John blurted out before realising what he had said.  
"Have you heard the rumours? He stays up for days performing all sorts of horrible experiments. He plays the violin horribly just to annoy people."  
"It's not all set in stone yet, maybe you won't get married to him."  
"You know our step-father. He always gets what he wants." John remembered the weddings of the twins, their husbands didn't look happy about it, even if their step-father did.  
"I should go get the dinner ready." John said quietly, Harry nodding in response. John walked through to the kitchen, pushing out the memories of their mother in her wedding dress. He took the pie he had prepared earlier and put it in the clean oven, setting the timer. He walked back to the room he was cleaning. He picked up the brush and continued cleaning until the timer sounded and he returned to the kitchen. He started preparing the vegetables before realising that the door from the kitchen to the garden was open. He walked over to it; the night was stealing the heat from the day. He looked at the full moon before closing the door, it reminded him of Sherlock. He blinked and shook the thought from his head.

When he had finished the dinner he carefully carried it into his step-father's study. He bowed and walked towards the door. He stopped before he reached it though.  
"What is it?" His step-father asked roughly.  
"Would I be able to go to the ball?"

"Of course not. You have chores, besides look at you, you're a state." John looked down at his favourite jumper, worn jeans and battered boots. He could understand about the clothes, but John cleaned up pretty well.  
"But-"  
"No buts, you're not going. Harry wouldn't either if it wasn't for the fact that she would make an ideal wife for the Prince." John bowed and left the room.

* * *

_Sherlock couldn't get John's face out of his mind. It was infuriating, he was in every thought. Sherlock growled at himself. He looked into the microscope, studying the current hair sample, comparing it with others he had found. He picked up the next slide. It was a blond hair, he instantly thought about John again. Sherlock gave up and went for a walk around the palace. Night had fallen without him realising it, he walked into the vast library, looking for something interesting to read, something to take his mind off of John. Maybe something about a particularly gruesome murder.  
_"_Sherlock, I see you're perusing the library again."  
_"_Mycroft, I see you have been at the chocolate éclairs again." Mycroft pursed his lips, thinking. A book caught Sherlock's eye.  
_"_How is the wife feeling?"  
_"_Better now that the morning sickness has passed." Mycroft leant against the bookshelf next to Sherlock.  
_"_Congratulations on your first son."  
_"_Thank you." Mycroft replied without any hesitation. Boring. "You still have to get married."  
_"_Don't remind me, I had just managed to delete that fact before you brought it up again." Delete. Sherlock walked away, book in hand.  
_"_You have to choose tomorrow night, or Mummy will choose for you." Sherlock harrumphed before continuing._

* * *

John was helping Harry into the wedding dress, tears streaked her face.  
"Stop that, or you will ruin your make up." Harry sniffled, but the tears stopped. John dabbed at her face with a tissue before continuing. After another half-hour she was ready. John escorted Harry down the stairs, into their step-father's arms. John watched them go through the front door and into the carriage. He watched the carriage leave the grounds before muttering.  
"I wish I could have done more to help."  
"Well then, we need to get to work." A woman's voice said impatiently behind John. He turned around to see a young woman dressed in a tight black dress and holding a riding crop.  
"Who are you?" The woman sighed impatiently.  
"I'm your fairy godmother, Irene Adler. Now hurry up."  
"Why are you holding a riding crop?"  
"Some people like to take a while making their wishes, so I hit them with it. Now wish."  
"I wish I could go to the ball." John blurted out without thinking about it.  
"That's more like it." Irene started making her way to John, her eyes skimming over him. She circled him a couple of times, thinking.  
"Erm…"  
"Shut up, I'm thinking. Yes, that will do nicely." Irene smiled and waved the riding crop. The dusty old jeans that John was wearing had turned into white suit trousers, his boots into shiny black shoes and his shirt into the finest white shirt and waistcoat he had ever seen. He tentatively stroked the waistcoat, feeling the smooth fabric.  
"Here." Irene handed him a white coat.  
"Thank you." His voice held complete admiration.  
"I'm not done yet." Irene walked out of the front door and looked around the garden. Smiling, she waved the riding crop again. The pumpkin started to roll towards us, growing bigger and bigger. Eventually, when it stopped, it was big enough to fit four people comfortably inside it. Irene waved again, and it turned into a sleek black coach. Irene waved the riding crop and four rats ran in front of the coach, turning into four stunning black horses. She picked a mouse up from behind a bush and placed it in the coachman's seat, where it promptly turned into a coachman. Irene nodded before turning and handing John a mask. He took it silently, blinking often.  
"When do I wake up?" He asked absent mindedly. Irene laughed.  
"The spell will end at midnight, you must be back before then."  
"U-huh." John nodded. Irene pushed him in the direction of the carriage and he entered. The carriage sped off. Irene smiled and walked back into the house.

* * *

_The decorations were horrendous and the ball itself was boring. The only people not wearing masks were Mummy, Mycroft and Sherlock. Sherlock was standing next to an ice sculpture of a swan, a very deformed swan. Everyone had arrived, as far as anyone knew, but Sherlock wasn't interested in any of the guests. A young man walked in through the doors, he was an entire hour late. Sherlock frowned and started to walk in his direction. When Sherlock finally managed to get a good look at him, he realised who it was.  
_"_Hello, John." John jumped and turned around.  
_"_Good evening, Prince Sherlock."  
__"May I escort you to the drinks table?"  
_"_Of course, Prince Sherlock."  
_"_Oh, please. Drop the Prince, I hate it."  
_"_Really, then why does everyone insist on calling you prince?"  
_"_It irritates me, and I have insulted most of the people in this room." John was looking at a young woman dressed in white._

"_I have a favour to ask, if I may?"  
_"_Go ahead."  
_"_Can you please not marry Harriet Watson?"  
_"_Gladly." John looked relieved, really relieved. Sherlock was surprised to find that he didn't like it. "Are you planning to marry her?"  
_"_God, no. I just think that she should be with Lady Clara, the one she loves." So, Harriet Watson meant something to John.  
_"_Would you care to dance?" John looked surprised.  
_"_I can't." He whispered.  
_"_Why not?"  
_"_No, you don't understand. I _can't_ dance, never have been able to." Sherlock smiled, grabbed John's hand and forcibly dragged him onto the dance floor. Sherlock put John in the correct position and started to lead. After the initial panic, John started to relax. Sherlock looked down at him, John was concentrating.  
_"_Just relax, it will come naturally." John snorted, but did as he was told, and soon they were gliding across the dance floor, going between couples. Mycroft caught Sherlock's eye and glanced at him meaningfully, Sherlock ignored him. Sherlock and John switched between dancing and chatting at the side of the ballroom. John was the only thing that made the ball even remotely interesting.  
_"_What's the time?" John asked, patting himself down for a watch.  
_"_Almost midnight."  
_"_Shit!" John started to make his way to the exit. Sherlock grabbed his arm.  
_"_Where are you going?"  
_"_I need to leave." John tugged his arm free and ran out of the door whilst Sherlock was accosted by Harriet Watson's step-father._

* * *

John was panting, his heart racing. He had barely made it home in time.  
"Took you long enough." Irene was waiting in the foyer for him.  
"Have you been here the entire time?"  
"Well, someone had to finish your chores. I sat and read, of course, but your chores are finished."  
"How did you manage that?" Irene lifted an eyebrow and indicated to her riding crop. "Oh."  
"Get to bed, kiddo. You'll need the sleep in the morning." John made his way up to his cramped bedroom and fell into bed. He slept right through the night.

* * *

_Sherlock paced in his rooms.  
_"_Do you know his name?"  
_"_John."  
_"_John what?"  
__"I don't know." Sherlock paced faster, Mycroft sat on the couch.  
_"_What do you know?"  
_"_I know that he does a lot of physical labour, some of it outside. He lives in a large house, but sleeps in a small room. He's concerned about Harriet Watson, so somehow connected to her. He comes from a wealthy family, but has no money of his own." Sherlock's pacing grew frantic._"_Calm down, Sherlock. We'll find him." Mycroft watched Sherlock pace, his head going from side to side. Sherlock sat down for a couple of seconds before launching himself from the chair again.  
_"_What do I do?"  
_"_You said you met him before, where about?" Sherlock shook his head, trying to remember something. His eyes lit up as he remembered the sheet. He looked at it, looking for clues. There was embroidery in the corner, it was a lily.  
_"_I want you to send out a messenger to all of the invited households, ask about a missing sheet. Say that whoever manages to tell me what the sheet looks like will have my hand in marriage."  
_"_Are you sure about this, Sherlock?"  
_"_I already know what he looks like; I just need to find out his name."_

* * *

John searched the laundry for the sheet that blew away in the wind, the one that instigated the meeting with Sherlock. He searched for an hour and a half, quietly tidying up after himself. There was a knock at the door, John sighed and went to answer it. The messenger who had delivered the invitation was standing there.  
"The Prince has found a sheet. We are looking for the owner of the sheet. There is embroidery on the sheet, if you answer correctly, you will meet with the prince." John's heart thudded.  
"It has a lily on it; it was my mother's favourite flower." The messenger nodded and indicated to the coach behind him.  
"If you will please step into the coach, we will take you to the palace."  
"What's all this?" John's step-father walked out of one of the drawing rooms.  
"The prince has found a sheet, this young man answered correctly and we must now take him to the palace."  
"We have lost no sheet, leave now." John's step-father closed the door. John's heart started thudding, making him feel sick.  
"I thought the young man dancing with the prince looked familiar." His step-father glared down at him. John knew what was coming before the blow hit him. John doubled over, clutching his stomach.  
"Is this some plot to ruin your sister's chance of being queen? Or is it jealousy?" Another blow came.  
"Of course not." John gasped.  
"Doesn't matter any more." John's step-father wrapped his large hands around John's neck, and started to squeeze. John started gasping for breath. When his vision started going black, he closed his eyes. There was a thud and the hands released him. The air came back to him in a giant breath.  
"Are you ok, John?" Sherlock asked.  
"Sherlock?" John asked, not believing his eyes, his voice was raspy and his throat sore. Sherlock breathed out in relief. Sherlock glared down at the unconscious body of John's step-father, still holding the bat he used to hit him with.  
"John!" Harry cried out from the top of the stairs, rushing down to check on him.  
"I'm fine." He croaked. Sherlock stopped glaring at John's step-father and walked towards where John was sitting with Harriet.  
"John, you're lying." He said before firmly planting his lips against John's. He lightly placed a hand of the back of John's neck, being careful not to touch where he would bruise. John relaxed against him. "You're mine." Sherlock claimed against his lips, before his tongue started doing things that should be illegal. Their lips welcomed each other's heat. John moaned appreciatively. Harry cleared her throat. Sherlock responded by giving her the most venomous glare he could muster.  
"I was only going to say that you might want to do something about our step-father."  
"Already taken care of." Prince Mycroft walked in with a couple of police officers. "Lestrade, can you cuff him for me?"

* * *

_Sherlock was getting impatient, John was still looking at him in a way that made him want to claim that mouth for himself again.  
_"_Sherlock, I suggest you use one of the bedrooms upstairs." Mycroft said and then left. Harriet was blushing, pointing up the stairs. Sherlock nodded and dragged John up them. Sherlock pushed John into the first bedroom he came to, and onto the bed.  
_"_Ah-" Sherlock pressed his mouth against John's again, silencing him. God, kissing John like this made him want to bury himself in John and never come out again. Sherlock could feel John's erection against his hip. Sherlock pushed himself up, looking down into John's eyes.  
_"_God, Sherlock, don't stop." This was invitation enough. Sherlock pressed a palm against the bulge in John's jeans.  
_"_Ah, more, please." The look in John's eyes settled it._

* * *

Somehow Sherlock managed to simultaneously unbutton John's shirt and unzip his jeans. John was looking down at Sherlock's body, he was as hard as John was. John's jeans found themselves over the other side of the room, along with his underwear. Sherlock pulled the shirt up, but not off. John looked up at what Sherlock was doing with it. John's mind took a moment to register that Sherlock was tying John to the bed with the shirt. John struggled, but it was already too late. Sherlock smiled devilishly down at him. He made his way down John's body. Kissing and licking different parts of his body. John could already feel the warmth of orgasm building.  
"Sherlock." He managed to get out.  
"John." Sherlock replied before swallowing John whole.  
"Fuck-ah!" John involuntarily rutted. Sherlock held John's hips in place. Licking from base to tip, Sherlock never broke eye contact. God, that mouth! John was pretty sure it should be outlawed. Sherlock cupped one hand around John's balls. John curved his back.  
"Fuck, Sherlock. I- ah- I'm close." Sherlock's eyes glinted. John could feel the orgasm coming closer.  
"Sherlock, please." John's voice was close to a whine. Sherlock stopped sucking long enough to look John in the eye and tell him  
"We have many more nights after this." Just the way he said it was enough to send John over the edge.

* * *

_Sherlock untied John, cleaning a little off of him with the shirt.  
_"_Where, the hell, did you learn to do that?" John asked.  
_"_Not telling."  
_"_You didn't come." John looked sad at this.  
_"_What makes you think that?" Sherlock stood up. John's mouth opened and closed.  
_"_Oh."  
_"_I need to get back to the palace and get a change of clothes."  
_"_Ok." Sherlock smiled. He kissed John again before leaving. He climbed onto his horse and rode straight into the palace grounds.  
_"_You found him then?" Mummy was waiting outside his rooms.  
_"_Oh yes."_


End file.
